


A House Divided

by Weconqueratdawn



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Domestic, Domestic Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Fluff, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Relationship Negotiation, extended wine metaphors, unhealthy journalling, with the emphasis upon husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-15 18:07:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8067457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weconqueratdawn/pseuds/Weconqueratdawn
Summary: Will and Hannibal have settled into a quiet existence by the sea but, after everything which has passed between them, Will struggles to accept Hannibal’s love.
Loosely based on the Big Bang prompt - ‘five times Hannibal does something romantic, and one time Will does’.

  “Summer cannot last forever, even here.”


  Will leaned back against the table edge, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. If he smiled fully the tug of scar tissue made him conscious of it. “Surely you’re not lamenting your passing youth?”


  “Passed youth, you mean.” With a flourish, Hannibal placed a dish towel back in its rightful place and untied his apron. “I am now ready to settle into comfortable middle age.”


  “Does that make me your mid-life crisis?”


  “Perhaps,” Hannibal agreed, and looked over to Will with flat, ironic amusement. “And what is your excuse for me?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE thanks to [wraithsonwings](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wraithsonwings/pseuds/wraithsonwings) and lordofthelesbians for being excellent betas and letting me worry at them about this <3
> 
> Written for the Hannibal Big Bang 2016 and containing illustrations by [m-oarts](http://m-oarts.tumblr.com/)

_And if a house be divided against itself, that house cannot stand._

Mark 3:25, King James Bible.

 

In the evening light the low sandstone cliffs glowed bright above the slate-grey sea. Before heading inside, Will was in the habit of pausing to look back towards their meandering edges and the waves beneath. From the rise the house stood upon, his boat’s small bay was obscured by the rocky headland projecting out between them. It was a perfectly composed scene of warm mellow stone and cool inky water, and left him with a decided calm.

The house itself was a masterful addition to the landscape. Originally a coastguard’s cottage crafted from local stone but now expanded with an artist’s eye into something other. Its stone front faced the sea, rising from the cliff it was built on, and the glass-and-steel back opened outwards to the wooded hills behind it. With characteristic and whimsical humour Hannibal had named it _Janus_ , even commissioning a sign from a local blacksmith.

Will opened the wrought-iron gate and climbed the few rough steps up through the garden. He chose the winding path, paved with more sandstone, which led around to the back of the house. The golden light of the house’s interior glowed, bleeding out into the deepening sky. From here there was a clear view into the glass-walled kitchen, with Hannibal prominent in its midst. His pure white apron and deft, precise gestures suggested Will had perhaps ten minutes before dinner would be served. 

This was now the principal entrance - the old front door led directly into a smallish room Will used as a kind of den. The new one opened instead into a sky-lit double-height hallway, from which the kitchen and living areas were immediately apparent. The effect was impressive and falsely intimate, quietly suggesting to visitors that they had been admitted to the heart of the house.

Inside, Will pulled off his boots and stowed them in the cloakroom, calling into the kitchen as he passed by. “I’m back.”

He prepared for dinner quickly, changing into a clean shirt and washing his hands and face, before entering the kitchen. His nose was still cold when he kissed Hannibal in greeting.

“How was your walk?” Hannibal asked.

“I went through the woods for a way, checked on the boat and came back by the cliffs. There’s been a small rockfall out by the bay where we found the samphire.” He began laying the table, a familiar routine now. Silverware, wine, glasses. “It’s getting cooler. The nights are drawing in.”

“Summer cannot last forever, even here.” 

Will leaned back against the table edge, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. If he smiled fully the tug of scar tissue made him conscious of it. “Surely you’re not lamenting your passing youth?”

“Passed youth, you mean.” With a flourish, Hannibal placed a dish towel back in its rightful place and untied his apron. “I am now ready to settle into comfortable middle age.”

“Does that make me your mid-life crisis?”

“Perhaps,” Hannibal agreed, and looked over to Will with flat, ironic amusement. “And what is your excuse for me?”

Will seated himself at the table and poured a little wine into his glass. “So now you admit I need one. Very interesting, Dr Lecter.”

Hannibal brought the plates over, and dropped a kiss onto his forehead. “Excuses purport to hide our real motivations. But they can be signposts to the truth.” He made to sit opposite Will, but re-considered halfway down and instead went back into the kitchen. “There was a delivery earlier - forgive me a moment.” 

He returned with two short silver candleholders fitted with white tapers which Will had not seen before. They were carefully placed on the table and lit, the lights dimmed. Will looked at the picture in front of him - the white tablecloth, the indigo sky outside, the warm and intimate glow of candlelight. There was an echo in it of another time and place, one he tried hard not to think about.

“Candlelight, Hannibal? Really?” He resisted the urge to stab at piece of crisp radicchio and sipped his wine instead. “Do you feel the need to romance me?”

“I wouldn’t say precisely that, but ambience is important. A proper setting for a meal can be as vital as the meal itself. As vital as the company, also.” Hannibal raised his wineglass in silent toast.

Instead of answering, Will concentrated on the bitter flavour of the leaves. He didn’t speak much more until dinner was over.

That night, before sleep claimed him, Will lay awake in their shared bed. The remoteness of the house ensured the darkness was profound, something which suited Will perfectly. He’d never been afraid of the dark, even when young. It was much easier to hide in.

Hannibal slept soundly beside him, as efficient in this as he was in everything. In five hours he would be dressing for a run, followed by a dawn swim in the sea. If he was feeling more sedate, it would be six hours. More rarely, he lingered in bed with Will, bringing him coffee when he woke. Then he was softer and more silent than Will had ever expected possible.

Will fell asleep contemplating the shadowy, restful shape of Hannibal next to him, and the brush of warm fingers as he was passed a coffee cup in the morning sunlight. 

*

A string of warmer days followed, beautiful ones poised on the brink of fall but which carried with them the recent memory of high summer. They began crisp and ended languidly, leading to several pleasant evenings on the fragrant, herb-bordered terrace. Will took full advantage of the stiff, fresh breeze and spent much of his time sailing and fishing. The clear, blue space around him, filled with nothing but the emptiness of open water and sky, was as enticing as ever. Each day he arrived back pleasantly tired, soaked in tranquil solitude, hungry for both Hannibal’s food and his company.

Slowly, the crispness of the mornings diminished and the heavy humidity of summer returned. There came a day when Will woke to find clouds instead of clear skies, and by the time breakfast was over a soft gentle rain was beginning to fall. He chose to forgo an afternoon in the boat, judging from the building clouds that a break in the weather was due. Frustratingly though, after a morning indoors, the rain remained light and the wind steady. So instead Will spent the remainder of the day digging the flower beds he had promised to Hannibal.

It took a couple of hours of hard toil, which warmed his muscles and left them singing with strain. Returning inside he felt good again, satisfied his time had been well spent. The rain drummed persistently on the skylights, having turned heavier as Will stowed the tools in an outbuilding. He towelled his hair and stripped off his wet clothing, before seeking sustenance in the kitchen. From by the open fireplace, unlit still, Hannibal watched indulgently amused as Will raided the refrigerator, damp and mostly naked.

“May I suggest the dauphinoise leftover from last night? I know you hate waste as much as I do.”

Will took up a fork with relish and ate straight from the container. Even if he hadn’t been suddenly famished, sometimes it still caused a faintly pained look to cross Hannibal’s face. 

He leant against the counter and said, “Thank you for not insisting on a gardener. Or a plumber. Or a builder. I know things would get done much quicker if we hired people in.”

“I seem to have acquired a combination of all of those, and more, in you.” Hannibal looked out into the garden at Will’s efforts, now partly obscured by sheeting rain. “A home for you is something you create and build. It’s not delivered ready-made. And I could always help, I suppose. At least with the heavy-lifting.”

Will’s snort of laughter was maybe a touch more derisive than he’d intended. “Yeah okay, you let me know when you’re ready to do that and I’ll put you to work.”

After Will had showered and dressed again, the rainfall dense still and thundering heavily against the glass. Hannibal had lit the fire - not because it was cold but to add to the cosy, cocoon-like sensation created by the rain. Dinner also appeared to reflect the elemental mood, suggestive of fire and ozone. There was a rich stew, heavily flavoured with ripe, late tomatoes and spicy grilled sausage, and airily light salt cod fritters. They spoke little, content to listen to the thrumming rain and to share warm, comfortable glances.

Later, they sat by the fire together. Their respective reading was close to hand but mostly ignored for gazing into the licking, twisting flames. Instead of dessert, Hannibal had chosen to open a bottle of copper-coloured Sauternes to sip with slivers of Roquefort. Upon tasting the complex sweet-spice flavours of the wine, Will found it hard to disagree with the decision. 

Hannibal watched him taste the wine appreciatively and smiled. “Sauternes casks are sought after to age whisky in. I thought you might enjoy it. It is meant to be drunk in a similar manner, sipped alone or alongside small bites of unfussy food. Oysters, or lightly steamed lobster perhaps.”

“Unfussy food,” Will replied, with a sidelong look at Hannibal. “Doesn’t sound much like you.”

“Here I am not cooking for an audience. It is for pleasure only, mine and yours. Such complex ingredients should be treated with respect and given space to flourish.”

The fire gave Will a reason to look away, something to stare at which wasn’t Hannibal. “Is that how it is? Space for me to flourish.”

“I want you to be happy, Will. Here, with me.”

The tightening of scar tissue in Will’s cheek made him painfully aware of the twitch in his jaw. And of his rising and irrational anger. “Do you think I’m not happy already?”

Next to him, Hannibal was silent for a few moments. Then he said, “The wine you are drinking is made by a curious method. The grapes must be infected with a fungus known colloquially as noble rot. They become raisined and their intense sweetness and complexity is developed while still on the vine. It is an unpredictable process, and the end result is as much due to the climatic conditions as it is to the skill of the winemaker. Possibly more so.”

Will considered the glass, held by the stem between his fingers, and what it contained. “You still think you are creating me.”

“I believe I have accepted that what you have become, and what you will continue to become, is beyond my control.”

“But you nurtured the noble rot and hope to taste my complex sweetness.”

“That is one way to view it, yes.” 

Appalling as it was, Will had to admit it sounded familiar. He took another sip of wine, a large one. Honeyed apricots and caramel, with gentle acidity. It didn’t help his mood that he could now add wine tasting to his list of hobbies.

“I’m being oaked,” he said, into the fire. “You’ve already harvested me.”

“That is maybe a more accurate metaphor.”

“One that can run and run, considering what you do with your victims. The perfect accompaniment for a private dinner party.”

Hannibal looked mildly affronted. “Companion, not accompaniment.”

“Companion.” Will rolled the word around his mouth, like the wine.

What they were to each other had not been discussed. Once Hannibal had ventured to confess his love and Will had pretended not to hear. It was too much and not enough, and it felt like betrayal. Will had thought about the other kinds of love he’d given and received, and didn’t examine too closely who would be betrayed if he were to speak it aloud now.

He turned to Hannibal, to realise how close they were on the sofa. The roaring fire, the rain. The wine.

“You really want me to be happy.”

It was barely a question but Hannibal nodded. Will registered he’d never truly believed that until now. Instead of it reassuring him, he felt nauseous. 

There was another short silence, filled in by the beating of rain. Here with Hannibal, he was as content as he could ever remember being. And yet, considering the journey to arrive here, it all dissolved in confusion. 

Will stood and said, “Why don’t you go up now, and I’ll follow. I want to see to something in the den.”

He didn’t wait for Hannibal’s reply and walked calmly through the kitchen and into the older stone-built part of the house. Behind him he could hear the quiet noises of Hannibal securing windows and doors for the night. Entering the den, he closed the door behind him and leaned against it.

Immediately he felt steadier and more centred. The room had been an informal parlour but now the old front door was rarely used, it had become his - a cross between an office and a workshop. Here were his fishing flies, the good tools he didn’t want to keep outside. Books, a desk, a chair for reading. Partly bound by the thick stone perimeter wall, the room had a comforting strength and solidity. The one window looked out to sea, presumably towards poor souls at the mercy of the waves. Will sometimes imagined the coastguard sitting at his post by the hearth, watching and waiting for them.

Directly above was the master bedroom, where Hannibal could be heard moving around as he prepared for sleep. It had the same stone-built steadfastness, with two large sash windows on either side of the bed. The interior of the house, particularly the upstairs, had been remodelled to incorporate larger rooms and contemporary desires. But the feel of the cool stone was discernable through the paint and plaster and Will had been glad of it. 

From within this space, Will’s thoughts of Hannibal shifted and became clearer. It was easier to understand their relationship, hidden as it was behind a veil of domesticity and peace. Will knew whatever they were, peaceful it was not. 

He went to the desk and unlocked a drawer, taking from it a leather-bound journal and flipped to a random page. It was dated from September last year, almost twelve months ago.

_You went to Florence to kill him. Remember that._

_Remember the feel of the knife in your pocket as you smiled at each other, reunited._

The rest of the page was blank. If he turned it, he'd find another entry. And another, and another. The story of how he came to be here, a book filled with things he'd be foolish to forget.

He shut the book with a snap and put it to one side. The memory was still sharp in his mind. One in a long string of first meetings, as each new version of themselves was revealed over and over, stretching out like a hall of mirrors. He remember the instant their eyes had met, the warmth and the recognition resurfacing so easily and against his will. How he must never let it be divorced from the pain and suffering they’d scattered around them. How he mustn't ever think he could have one without the other.

Will thought of the evening behind and ahead of him, of Hannibal’s casual yet genuine concern for his happiness. He thought of Hannibal undressing upstairs and their shared bed. He thought about what he might be owed and what he could give in return. He thought about another life, one he sometimes glimpsed around corners, a version of events where peace was possible and there was nothing lurking in the shadows.

He reached for the journal again, and on a clean page wrote:

_Once there was a man you trusted. You could have loved him as he was. But he couldn’t love you without changing you, forever. He didn’t love you enough to let you be._

_The man you trusted doesn’t exist and never did._

Then he returned the journal to its resting place and switched off the light as he left the room. Instead of making for the stairs, he entered the small bathroom next door. There was a deep porcelain sink with a mirror above, and Will leaned on it. He felt hot, a prickling under his skin, like the ghost of a fever. Splashing water on his face helped a little. The sensible thing would be to take a stroll in the garden before retiring. It would leave him settled, soothed for sleep. But in the mirror, his expression spoke of danger - cheeks flushed and mouth a determined line. Pulling his shirt off, he went upstairs in search of Hannibal.

He found him in the master bathroom, standing by the sink. From against the doorframe, Will watched Hannibal go through the motions of his evening routine, unperturbed by his audience. Every so often his reflection sought Will’s gaze in the mirror, his eyes painted with a knowing look. While he waited, Will let his hunger surface. The sleek strong lines of Hannibal’s figure were a constant draw. He was shirtless, clad only in plain black pyjama pants, mostly lean and severe still despite a life of relative repose. The brand between his shoulder blades stood out in clear relief; it rippled with his skin as he brushed his teeth.

Impatient, Will cupped his hardening dick, squeezing and rubbing himself through his pants. Hannibal observed him silently, apparently unmoved but betrayed by his own growing arousal. Will enjoyed this - it was crude and base, it should offend Hannibal’s refined sensibilities. Yet, in this, he was unable to refuse Will anything. It stoked a fire within Will more than he cared to admit, leaving him seeking to press his advantage.

Turning away abruptly, Will unzipped his pants and kicked them off, leaving them in a pile in the middle of the bedroom floor. He did the same with his briefs. When Hannibal came out of the bathroom, he was lying in the middle of their bed, stroking himself lazily. Will didn’t stop, hand sliding over his own skin as he watched Hannibal halt at the side of the bed, pyjama pants tented obviously. Will crawled to him and pulled them down, exposing his cock and taking it briefly in his mouth. Then he knelt up and pulled Hannibal into a bruising kiss, sharing with him the taste of his own salt-bitter fluid.

Hannibal’s hands clutched at him, parting his lips and moaning softly into Will’s mouth. His skin was warm, furred over his chest and down his belly where Will rutted against him in sharp short strokes. Will tugged him onto the bed, and Hannibal readily complied, laying back into soft pillows so Will could push his legs apart and sit between them. Will groped for the nightstand drawer, narrowly avoiding knocking over Hannibal’s waterglass. His hand passed over the condoms, the packet still brand new and unopened, and grabbed the lube. After everything they’d done to each other, Will couldn’t understand the point of them. He imagined wearing one to fuck Hannibal would feel like jerking off in a condom, like hiding from himself.

He braced himself over Hannibal, hands kneading over his chest and shoulders as they kissed open mouthed. Hannibal slid his legs wider in invitation and Will watched Hannibal’s face as he teased and stretched him, always quicker and rougher than he’d been with anyone else. It was guaranteed that Hannibal’s wince of discomfort would be followed by a loud moan and then by strong thighs wrapping around his waist. Tonight, even more so, Will wanted to feel himself buried inside Hannibal, to fuck him hard and have Hannibal groan and push back onto him.

With fingers knuckle-deep inside him, spreading him apart, Hannibal gasped and nodded rapidly at Will. “Now - let me feel you,” he said.

“You sure? You’ll be feeling me tomorrow too,” he said, but he had already pulled his hand away and shifted into position. He pushed past the initial resistance, and at the first hot slide into Hannibal’s body, groaned and dug his fingers into the solid meat of his hips.

Hannibal arched back into the pillows and groaned also. In the lines crinkling around his eyes there was something related to pleasure, if not actually pleasure itself. Will didn’t pause but kept his pace slow, pushing deep and withdrawing smoothly, until the tightness loosened further. Then Will snapped his hips forward, the force of it slapping their bodies together and causing the wooden bedframe to creak. Hannibal gasped and reached for Will, holding onto his biceps with a desperate grip. Will fucked him like that, bent over and panting harshly into Hannibal’s mouth in a not-quite kiss. Hannibal came suddenly and forcefully, into his own hand, and Will leaned back to thrust deeper, harder. It was the thought of spilling into Hannibal which pushed him over the edge, marking him in such a coarse and animal way. When he pulled out he made sure to run his fingers through the mess he’d left behind.

They slept soon after, close but not touching. The white bedsheets seemed to float like a raft in the dark of their bedroom. The rain eased but continued steadily all night, the promised storm avoided.

_*_

The unsettled weather passed and eased into a cooler, brighter stretch of days which prompted Will to long for open water. It was time to take the boat out again.

Since his last trip he’d been hard at work around the house. They were now as confident of their untraceability as was possible and, after living in several temporary houses, were ready to establish themselves more firmly in one place. There were plenty of minor repairs to claim Will’s time, as well as a boarded-up fireplace to be restored. Hannibal also wanted a dressing room, to be created by knocking two smaller rooms into one. In addition, with Hannibal becoming interested in growing fruit and vegetables, there was plenty of work to be done in the garden. There was a small orchard already, overgrown when they’d bought the house and now cleared and productive. Will had tried and failed to picture Hannibal making applesauce and jelly, but agreed to build raised vegetable beds regardless.

They breakfasted as usual, in the glass-enclosed dining room. The fine clear daylight crisply illuminated the scene like a painting. It called to Will as he sat at the table, and he wasted no time in lingering over an extra piece of toast or a second cup of coffee. When he’d dressed and returned downstairs to prepare his gear for the day, he found a bundle waiting for him on the kitchen counter.

“What’s this?” he asked, poking inside the bag to find several tupperware containers and things wrapped in greaseproof paper, plus two bottles of beer.

“Lunch,” Hannibal said, simply. “Things that will travel well, nothing too complicated. You can eat it all cold, but the ratatouille and the scramble can be reheated easily. I noticed you didn’t eat much this morning, too impatient to be outside.”

_A little protein scramble. Eggs. Some sausage._

The memory was like ice dripping cold down the back of his neck. He pushed it to one side, and prodded the paper parcels. 

“Sandwiches?”

“Yes, during my many years of culinary practice I have managed to add sandwich-making to my repertoire.”

Hannibal looked dryly amused; warm, even. Though Will looked hard, he struggled to see anything further, not even a hint of something else hidden deep. He was only the man who spoke openly of Will’s happiness as something he desired.

“Thank you,” said Will. “There was no need though. I was going to get something to take with me.”

“Now you don’t have to,” Hannibal smiled, turning away to fill a flask with fresh coffee. “And there’s this also.”

Will looked dumbly at it for a moment. “I have coffee on the boat.”

“Not this coffee, you don’t. Here.”

*

When he reached the boat, moored a brisk but short walk away, Will went below deck and put the bag on the table. He stared at it for perhaps a full ten minutes before he realised what he was doing. Briefly, he considered throwing the entire thing overboard - there were enough basic supplies stowed to manage for the day, and he could always cook anything he caught. Then he looked inside it again, and something about how tightly wrapped the sandwiches were tugged at him and he knew he couldn’t.

Without thinking too much about it, he put the scramble in the microwave and poured some of the coffee. Then he sat at the table and ate. The scramble had tomato, peppers and onions in it. Jalapenos, too. Hannibal knew he liked spicy food. He nearly put his fork down then but he forced himself to continue until he’d eaten it all. It was good. It was always good.

Out at sea, he repeated this performance with the rest of the food, like he was following unwritten instructions. The sandwiches were eaten on deck, accompanied by the beer, with the sun warm and the wind cool on his skin. Before he raised anchor to sail back, he warmed the ratatouille before scooping it up with a chunk of bread, wrapped separately for that purpose. He finished the flask of coffee leant against the ladder in the galley. 

The journey back to shore was easygoing, the blue of the sea deepening as the sun sank lower and the moon rose. It was only as he stepped onto the old stone jetty that the thought of spending the evening with Hannibal caused a clawing, panicked feeling to climb his throat. When he stepped through the door, Hannibal would look pleased, kiss him, ask him about his day. His affection would settle over Will like a blanket, hot and stifling. He crouched down onto the jetty, grinding his palms into the hard grit of its surface, until his stomach stopped churning. 

He found reasons to delay on the way home - to assess a tree which might topple in the next storm, to watch the rabbits emerge from their burrows. But it still only took him a few minutes to reach the gate. The panic had lessened, leaving him tired, with nerves stretched thin. At the top of the steps, instead of taking the path which led to the main entrance, he followed the strip of grass around to the house front. The door there was always kept locked and he had to search in the bottom of his bag for the key. Once found, he opened the door carefully and quietly, all the while hating himself for the sick feeling of shame low in his stomach. He set the bags down noiselessly and pretended he wasn’t hiding.

The sun sank lower still, darkening the room. Will sat with his back to the door, aware he couldn’t stay there all night. There was not a sound from the rest of the house. Here it was possible to believe he was totally alone. He wondered what that might be like - to just disappear and find another little house standing lonely in a field where he could live quietly, if not happily. Would it be so bad? Would he wake in the night, reaching for the solid weight next to his? Would he miss the raw, near-unbearable intimacy of Hannibal’s presence? 

Of course he would. He’d been through it before, too many times, to think any differently. 

Slowly, he stretched his aching legs, and stood to open the door. He found Hannibal reading at the dining table, a single glass of chilled wine next to him. Will knew from experience that if Hannibal seemed unaware of his presence it wasn’t because he truly was. They both let the moment hang for a few seconds, allowing Will time to view Hannibal without the distraction of his focused gaze upon him. He made a beautiful picture, the strong bold lines of his face and shoulders cast with shadows. Elegant and monstrous, his and his alone.

“I’m not hungry,” Will said. “I’ve got a headache. I’m going to lie down for a while.”

“Of course,” Hannibal said, smoothly turning a page. “Whatever you feel is best.”

He didn’t look up, so Will walked away in silence.

The journal remained locked away that evening. When Will shut his eyes he could see his own handwriting scrawled across the space behind his lids. 

*

Will was awake at dawn the next day. The empty bedclothes next to him were rumpled but cold to the touch. He lay in the brightening light and tried to decide if he was relieved or disappointed. _Probably both_. His hands lay across his bare stomach under the covers, tracing his scar. _Split in two,_ he thought _._ He fell asleep again and dreamed of dividing himself into pieces. Maybe if he gave Hannibal his actual beating heart the rest of him could move on. He wouldn’t need it then, anyway.

He woke much later to find a cold cup of coffee on the nightstand. Downstairs, there was a note.

_I have some errands and, after your headache of yesterday, thought it best to leave you sleeping. I will be back in time for dinner._

It wasn’t unusual, Will told himself. Hannibal had all manner of esoteric undertakings, especially when it came to his wardrobe and fitting out the house to his satisfaction. Things which Will had very little interest in, so it was reasonable Hannibal would go alone. He reheated the coffee and made toast, eating it off his knee on the sofa. The thought crossed his mind that Hannibal could have other errands, things he did not want to share with Will. An old hobby, for instance, one which had been suspended by their escape and re-settling, not yet taken up again. He tried to convince himself that the sensation which oozed down his spine was not fear that he had been excluded from something.

After all, there was nothing Hannibal would keep from him. They’d killed no one since the Dragon, except for what had been necessitated by their escape. Since then they had lived quietly, Hannibal contenting himself with drawing the night on the cliff over and over. He seemed happy this way but Will knew it wouldn’t last. A moment of staggering rage crept up on him, that he found himself so closely tied to Hannibal that if Hannibal were to kill again he would want, _need_ , to share it with him. 

Will forced himself to tidy the kitchen and dress. He would pick one of the many jobs he had to do around the house and focus on that. And by the time Hannibal came home he would know what to do with his anger.

*

Hannibal returned as promised, outwardly cheerful, and with ingredients for a simple Mediterranean supper. Will had worked hard all day knocking down the wall for the dressing room, and it had helped quiet his rage enough so he could greet Hannibal almost effortlessly. Easily the worst part of it was the knowledge it wasn’t an act, that he craved his company and always would. That his smile at seeing him was as genuine the one he’d given him in the Uffizi Gallery.

It wasn’t enough to escape unnoticed by Hannibal though. What Will saw peeping through the cracks in his facade could only be described as a disappointed sadness. It made him long to take the sledgehammer to another wall.

“Still feeling unwell?” Hannibal enquired, unpacking a collection of cheeses, figs, black olives.

Will took a deep breath. He couldn’t spend another evening in hiding. “Yes. Constantly.”

Hannibal paused and slowly turned to face him, an expectant expression on his face which suggested he’d known this was coming. 

“Tell me about my happiness, Hannibal, since you’re so interested in it. What does it look like?”

A ringing stillness surrounded them, swallowing up Will’s accusatory tone. Hannibal’s manner remained utterly calm.

“Do you really want to discuss this? Or do you only intend to anger me, so I can act upon you in ways you easily understand?”

“You bastard.”

It was all Will managed to get out before he spun away from him, in the direction of the garden. He didn’t make it that far - Hannibal’s fingers closed around his arms, and yanked him back. He was shoved against the wall and Hannibal caged him in.

“I have waited,” he said, breathing heavily. “Waited for you to come to me. And you haven’t. I am tired of waiting.”

“You already have me,” Will ground out. “There’s no one else for me to go to, nowhere else I belong. If you don’t like that you only have yourself to blame.”

Hannibal looked despairingly at him then, and Will felt something inside splinter open. His fists were clenched and he pounded them against the wall behind him hard enough to break skin. His voice was thick with tears when he spoke.

“You could have had me, you could always have had me. But you took a different path. It’s only now, after everything, you want to show me love.” 

Hannibal folded over him, pushing them both up against the wall. He pressed his forehead to it so when he spoke it was just a whisper which passed Will's ear.

“I know. I know that now.”

Will sagged back into the wall, arms around Hannibal and fingers twisting into whatever he could reach. Clothes or hair, it didn't matter.

“I could've loved you then. It all could've been different.” His voice shook, and went on without his permission. “I tried to believe the man I knew then, the friend I had, didn't exist. But that’s not true. It was never fucking true.”

He pulled at Hannibal until they were face to face.

“It was all you. Different layers, but still all you.”

“Exactly the same as you, Will. You were still my friend when you came to kill me in Florence.”

“Only after you got to me. I was rotting on the vine by then.”

Distantly, Will wondered how far he should push this, and if he'd end up with another knife in his gut. It probably didn’t matter now.

Around him Hannibal took a deep shuddering breath. “You know I can't regret it. That I don't.”

“You think I’m better this way.” 

“I think you’re more aware of yourself, of your potential. Yes.” Hannibal paused, uncertain. “Do you really believe you were happier before?”

Will tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling, aware he’d bared his throat to Hannibal. He couldn’t have said if it was a sign of submission or manipulation.

“I believe there was no way I was going to escape you. Whenever I think of the choices I could have made which would have led away from this... I can always imagine how we’d still have found each other.”

He dropped his gaze to find Hannibal staring at him searchingly, like he was something wondrous. He pressed his forehead to Will’s, and their lips brushed as he spoke.

“Yes,” he said. “You were always inevitable.”

Will seized the back of his head and crushed their mouths together. Hannibal’s opened to his easily, and the wet slide of tongues and lips blotted everything out. It was much simpler like this, with no words. To silence that yawning and desperate need for each other with the press of their bodies.

When Will released him, Hannibal said, “I loved you then too, don’t think I didn’t.”

Will could have cried with pure frustration at the earnest expression Hannibal wore. “Even you can’t think that’s supposed to make it better.”

“No, but it is honest. We need more of that between us.”

“How’s this for honest - do you want me to fuck you here, or upstairs?”

Hannibal kissed him again, soft and gentle this time. It caused a sharp and piercing pain in Will’s chest and he pulled back, away from it and from Hannibal. 

Hannibal blinked back at him and said, “Upstairs.”

*

Will crawled over Hannibal, prone on the bed and already reaching for him, and wrenched the buttons of Hannibal’s shirt open. He pulled his own off before bearing down on Hannibal to press their chests together, and biting and licking at his mouth.

“What do you want?” Will asked, pushing as much as Hannibal’s shirt off him as possible without them both sitting up.

Hannibal lay looking up at him, chest heaving and voice rough but even. “Do you want to hear me talk, Will? Want me to beg and plead for you? You already know I would.”

“You said you had been waiting for me to come to you. What for - what is it you want?”

Shaking his head, Hannibal said, “It does not matter. You are not ready yet, and you might never be.”

Will stilled, braced above Hannibal on the bed. “Tell me.”

He watched as Hannibal paused, and licked his lip where Will had bitten him. “Perhaps we changed each other at different rates. And so now I desire tenderness and you desire violence.”

If Will was honest with himself, it was that Hannibal had spoken openly of it which shocked him most. He already knew it was a truth, and that what angered him were Hannibal’s expectations of a love returned.

He backed up a little, creating more space between them. Hannibal’s eyes were bright, fevered, with his shirt half-torn off and his chest rising and falling rapidly. He squeezed Hannibal’s cock through his pants, full and hard and insistent already. 

“This doesn’t look like you desire tenderness,” he said, eyebrow raised.

“I desire you in all your forms. If you want to use me, I will enjoy that of course.”

Will snorted, mouth twisted in disbelief. “But what else do you expect? You want to treat me like Alana? Look what happened to her - what you did to her and what you would still do now.”

Hannibal frowned. “Everything is different, that doesn’t compare.” 

“Different, but I don’t have immunity. You are not safe for anyone, even me. I know I could push you to it if I wanted.”

“But you wouldn’t. You need me as much as I need you.”

Will bent down low over Hannibal and said, “I cannot be that, Hannibal. And this is not- We are not like that.”

“You are still caught up with thoughts of good and evil. Tenderness is earned, and the good shall receive it from you, whether you sincerely want to give it or not.” He arched up into Will, suggestive, tempting. “Am I truly evil to you? Perhaps you desire to punish me?”

Will frowned and pulled back again, sitting sharply upright. “You’re not good. I don’t know, maybe you’re neither.”

“According to the principles you cannot abandon, if I am not one I must be the other. So why not punish me and see where it takes us.” He rocked up again, clutching Will’s hips and driving their cocks together. “You stand in judgement, and you always will. Maybe this way your forgiveness will be forthcoming also.”

With his hands, Will pinned Hannibal’s hips to the bed and halted his writhing. “Stop. You don’t really believe that nonsense. Am I supposed to tie you to the bedposts, spank you and then feel better? If I really wanted to punish you I would just leave, disappear completely.” Hannibal lay still, watching Will unblinkingly. “What are you really asking for?”

“I am asking for you to stop hiding. Show me how you want me. If you cannot give me one thing, show me the other. Just mean it.”

Will moved back to settle on his heels, at a loss. If only it were that simple. “I think tying you up would be the easier option,” he said, as Hannibal pushed himself up at the elbows.

They sat opposite each other, clothes in disarray and somewhat deflated. Will looked at Hannibal before him, the creases across his belly and his greying chest hair. He was getting older. They both were. Hannibal had spoken of his comfortable middle age and Will could see his future stretching out before him - enjoying life’s easy pleasures together, good food and conversation, indulging their hobbies and interests. To the rest of the world they would just be another rich, retired gay couple. Would he really want that, even if it were true?

He passed a hand over his forehead, and smiled reluctantly. “Actually, I think gagging you would be even better,” he said. “I could just fuck you in peace then.”

Hannibal returned his smile. He shuffled closer and brushed his knuckles over the scar on Will’s stomach.

“When I gave you this, there was a part of you which allowed it to happen. You understood it was part of our particular tragedy. You were willing to die for me.” Hannibal withdrew his hand and lowered his gaze to the bed sheets. “It took me some time to realise the full significance of that.”

Will reached for him, and moved nearer until they could sit entwined in each other’s arms. He leant his head on Hannibal’s shoulder and let out a long, slow breath. Next to his ear, Hannibal’s voice sounded again.

“We have taken a long and winding journey to get here, and we’re not finished yet.”

“Will it ever be over?” Will said, turning his head towards him. “All my life, all I’ve ever wanted was peace. Is it possible for us to have a peaceful conclusion?”

“I know what mine would be.”

“Tell me about it. What does it look like?” Will closed his eyes and waited, like when he was very small and his grandmother told him stories. 

Hannibal’s arms tightened around him. “A lot like this. Except you no longer fight it. You let me make you happy.”

“Do you really think you can?” Instead of being defensive, Will found he genuinely wished to know the answer. “Sometimes I feel like you struggled so hard to bring me here but now I am, you don’t know what to do with me.”

“I admit I am frequently at a loss,” Hannibal said. 

Will had to laugh at the rueful and entirely genuine smile which tugged at Hannibal’s lips. It made Will to want to kiss him again, and he did so, quietly and gently. The way Hannibal looked at him afterwards almost made him wish he’d refrained. Almost.

He sighed and looked around at the rumpled bed. “Should we abandon this for now and eat? I’m starving.”

*

At Will’s insistence, Hannibal agreed to sacrifice the usual performance of dinner. Instead of re-dressing, he pulled on a sweater and pyjama pants - the kind of thing he might wear on a Sunday morning. Will gathered plates and the assorted groceries, which had been left half-unpacked, and arranged their supper across various side tables in the living room and even on the floor. Then he lit the fire and opened the sliding doors to the garden. The evening air streamed in, sweet and secret-smelling. He watched Hannibal take in the scene and pause.

“I don’t want to hear any complaints,” said Will. “You can choose the wine, but we are going to eat like this and enjoy it.”

Hannibal hovered by the wine racks. “Maybe something a little less metaphorical this time. I don’t think either of us could take it tonight.”

Will laughed, and then found he couldn’t stop. Probably he was a little hysterical but it didn’t matter. It felt good, like a release - one not based on violence. The thought sobered him up enough so he was at least able to take the glass from Hannibal without spilling it.

At the first sip he said, “Chianti? Not metaphorical but how is alluding to Florence any better?”

“Not intentionally, I assure you. If we avoided everything from our past we’d sit in silence for the rest of our lives.” He sat down on the sofa next to Will and eyed the olives balanced on its arm. “And since we’re going rustic, _Chianti Classico_ is called for.”

“This is an indoor picnic. If you want rustic, you should come out on the boat.”

Hannibal took up the small cheese board and pared off small pieces of pecorino Toscano. “I have spent enough time on boats to know it doesn’t have to be.”

“No, but it’s nicer if it is. That’s the point - living closer to something uncivilised, something bigger than you. And becoming part of it.” He remembered resurfacing in the midst of turbulent waters, with the sight of Hannibal ripping out the Dragon’s throat bright and fresh in his mind. Hannibal was occupied with slicing open figs, arranging them on a plate with prosciutto, and Will had a moment to compare the two images. “We didn’t have time to enjoy it. We were too busy trying not to die of our injuries or get caught.”

Hannibal continued with his task, deliberately silent. He’d never been on a boat since that journey, and had not even stepped foot on Will’s deck now. Will hadn’t invited him and Hannibal hadn’t asked, and then it had simply become a place for Will to escape to.

Like the den. The image of the locked drawer and the journal inside rose up in his mind, causing a twinge of guilty sickness. Something had shifted between them, and it now seemed a childish conceit. Keeping secrets in his bedroom. 

“Would you come out on the boat with me, if I asked? Would you want to?” It came out of his mouth almost shyly. He looked at the floor. “I don’t know if I can give you tenderness, but I can’t give you anything more honest than the ocean.”

Hannibal smiled, and said, “You’ve already given me that once. Can you promise me a nicer experience this time?”

The sensation these words produced in Will was strange and unexpected, as if the plate Hannibal now held out to him was actually piled with his own scooped-out innards. He stared at it stupidly, knowing that he had no right to feel so raw and empty.

Hannibal said, “I apologise, that was a badly-timed joke. I would prefer if our truce were to hold a little longer than half an hour.” 

Will shook his head. “No. It’s okay. I suppose we both need forgiveness for some things.”

Their dinner was long, leisurely and mostly quiet after that. They ate in little morsels and the evening drew in around them, protected as they were from its darkness by the fire. In its light Hannibal appeared sculptural and severe, utterly captivating. The need to pass plates or share food left them sitting close together, until Will could not hold back from leaning in to capture his mouth with his own. He’d waited long enough for this, to feel that kissing in the dark wasn’t hiding from anything.

They stumbled up the stairs together, unwilling to let go of each other long enough to make it into the bedroom with grace. Will thought of awakening in the boat, after dragging themselves out of the sea - how they’d clung to each other, even in sleep, like they were both still afraid of drowning. It occurred to him maybe he’d got stuck there and was only now remembering how to breathe.

Hannibal’s skin was warm and alive under his sweater, Will couldn’t stop touching him. He realised he was speaking, murmuring nonsense into his mouth, things which made Hannibal pull him close and kiss him urgently. By the time they reached the bed, he’d managed to shed most of his clothes and all of Hannibal’s. Will pushed him back into the pillows and lay half on top of him, hands skimming over his biceps, shoulders, chest, anywhere he could reach without relinquishing the feel of Hannibal’s wet plush lips sliding over his.

He felt Hannibal’s broad hands over his back, then tangling through his hair and pulling at his hips, grinding them both together. His cock pressed in a hard hot line along Will’s stomach, and it was good to be the cause of it, something simple and uncomplicated. Will pushed his pants out of the way so he could rub his own against Hannibal’s, and feel the glide of heated soft skin. Hannibal groaned and thrust a little, before taking them both in his hand, squeezing gently to press them tightly together. Will arched over him, panting, straining to reach Hannibal’s mouth with his own once more. Their kiss was messy and Will found himself smiling at their building desperation - at how all their complexity could be reduced to this physical need.

He received a questioning look from Hannibal and shook his head, smile widening, as he reached between them to join his hand with Hannibal’s. Under his fingers he felt Hannibal’s own strong, capable ones, and the thickness of them both in his fist, slick and slippery. Will moaned and arched back to watch, pressing his forehead to Hannibal’s. It was a strangely intimate sight, their fluids mingled, each rubbing at the other’s delicate skin.

“ _Christ,_ Hannibal,” he said, thrusting harder for a couple of strokes. “I want- I don’t know. _Everything._ ”

Lying leonine and prone underneath him, Hannibal smiled at his impatience. “Anything and everything. What do you want most?”

Will looked at Hannibal spread out, relaxed, happy, but still sleek and powerful. “To fuck you, I always want to fuck you.”

He slipped down the bed, fingers trailing down the soft, furred skin of Hannibal’s belly to his cock. He slid gentle fingers around it, feeling its heat and weight, the clear fluid which carried his scent.

Hannibal hummed in pleasure and asked, “Why that and why so much?”

“I want to possess you. And you let me,” Will said, and bent to taste him, sliding his lips over the swollen tip. 

Hannibal gasped and his muscles flexed in an aborted thrust. “You do so constantly. I’ve been possessed by you since we first met.”

Will ran his tongue around the loose fold of skin enclosing the tip, softly, and lapped inside. “Are you sure you don’t mean obsessed?”

“That too.” Hannibal lay with an arm thrown over his eyes, chest heaving.

Will withdrew and crawled back up the bed, dragging kisses over Hannibal’s skin as he went. “Same here,” he said, as he came for another kiss.

Hannibal wound his arms around him, holding them tightly together. When they broke apart they were panting and the desperate look in Hannibal’s eyes made Will grope for the nightstand. Together the got the drawer open and found the bottle of lube. By the time Will had slicked his fingers, his hands were shaking. Hannibal was kissing his neck, fingers wound tightly around Will’s wrist to pull his hand down between his legs.

Will teased him, stroking his sensitive skin and rubbing over his hole until Hannibal held his wrist in place and pushed back against him. The heat of Hannibal’s body was tight around his fingers and Will groaned, his need becoming urgent. He watched Hannibal bear down on them, working himself open, an act of will as much as one of pleasure. When he was finally ready, Will was slow and deliberate, using only the head of his cock to stretch Hannibal open. It was a torturous indulgence for them both, drawing out their pleasure beyond what was usual. He pushed a little deeper each time, until Hannibal growled and grabbed for Will’s hips to bury him fully inside. They both gasped, the tight sweet pressure a relief after such torment. Will rocked out gently and at his smooth slide forwards, Hannibal groaned out his name. He didn’t let go of Will’s hips, pulling him in deep at the culmination of every thrust, until they were both moaning into each other’s mouths between kisses.

Hannibal’s cock was trapped between them, a brush of slick tender skin along Will’s stomach, as they continued their slow, deep fucking. Hannibal tipped his head back and shut his eyes with a look of bliss. Will kissed along his throat, open-mouthed, feeling his pulse where it pounded against the skin. He sucked there, nipping his teeth gently over it, and Hannibal clutched at him, repeating Will’s name like a prayer. Will held him close, appreciating being the recipient of Hannibal’s devotion like never before. His mouth opened to tell Hannibal how he would kill anyone who dared think they could have it, but kept silent. It was something for later, once he could promise Hannibal more than he was able to right now.

He thrust faster but still smooth, deep, controlled; both wound tightly together in a coiled embrace. Will let his weight fall more heavily onto Hannibal, stomach rubbing against his cock as he drove into him harder and with more purpose. It wasn’t long before Will felt Hannibal shake under him, then he was coming, spurting hot between their chests. Will fucked him through it, fascinated by every shift of emotion which passed over his face. Hannibal slid his warm palms over Will’s back as Will kissed him blindly, groaning Hannibal’s name and spilling inside him. When Will came back to himself, he found his face ached from smiling while Hannibal watched, exhausted and reaching for him.

They lay still for a few moments, Will feeling the steady rise of Hannibal’s chest under him. Grimacing, he pulled back, already sticky and uncomfortable. Hannibal looked up at him petulantly, surprisingly uncaring of the mess they’d made.

“I suppose you’d wallow like this all day if I let you,” Will laughed. “Shower.”

“Not all day,” Hannibal protested, and made as if to pull Will back down to him again.

Will evaded his capture easily, and said more quietly, “I’m not going anywhere, I promise. Come on.”

He tried to ignore the protectiveness such raw vulnerability awoke in him, but it was no use. Hannibal stepped under the shower spray and Will followed, to fold his arms around him, sighing. 

“I suppose I should enjoy you when you’re like this,” he said, reaching for the soap. “It’s not very often. Maybe one day I’ll tell Freddie Lounds that the best shot the FBI have of catching you is when you’re freshly fucked. She’d love that.”

Hannibal laughed, already growing sharp and dangerous again. He pushed his face into Will’s neck, nuzzling, and pressed a pointed canine into Will’s earlobe.

“Did you lie just now, when you agreed you’ve always been obsessed with me, or when you said you didn’t find me that interesting?”

Sighing, Will said, “I lied then, I guess. You were intriguing but I wasn’t sure why or if I was even interested in why. It was the easiest thing to say in the moment.”

“Mmnn,” Hannibal’s smile was wide and pleased as he moved in to take another kiss.

Will rolled his eyes and said, “A question for a question. Would you have chosen this? If you'd been given the option to continue as you were - undistracted, the lone predator - would you still have chosen me?”

Hannibal brushed back Will’s wet hair from his face and looked seriously at him. “I would have chosen understanding over anything.”

“I don’t think you would have. You would’ve weighed the gains with the losses and chosen to continue as you were.”

There was a long pause where Hannibal considered, head tilted and utterly still. Eventually he said, “Perhaps I am romanticising. I was different then, I could not imagine anything else. Given the choice now, you know I would choose you. Always.”

Will nodded. Somehow it made him feel easier.

“What would be your choice?” Hannibal said. “If you could go back, would you? Or can you accept what I offer you now?”

Will shook his head. “I still don't know what you offer me, I can't… fully grasp it. You offer me your heart, yes, but what happens next?”

“I do not know any more than you. We will find that out together.”

*

In the galley, Will shut the last locker and stood back to regard his morning’s work. He spent a few moments mentally ticking things off the list and then turned away to fire up the little stove for coffee. All the supplies were safely stowed, all his checks had been completed, and he was satisfied there was nothing forgotten and nothing wanting. A good start to a significant voyage.

He was sitting at the table with a steaming mug when he heard a noise on the deck above. Footsteps followed, then Hannibal came down the ladder into the cabin.

“I was hoping the captain would welcome me aboard,” he said, putting his overnight bag down.

Will slid a cup towards him in invitation. “The captain made you coffee but you have to stow your own luggage. That’s the kind of boat I run.”

Hannibal took it and sat down in the opposite chair. The dining area was snug, so their knees were almost touching under the table. Will only had to uncurl a finger from where his hands were clasped around his mug to brush it over Hannibal’s knuckles. Hannibal moved them closer until Will released his coffee to wrap his hands over Hannibal’s. There they remained, quietly basking in each other’s presence, until their coffee went cold.

The day was calm with little breeze, so they motored out into open water with the sails furled. Soon the sandstone cliffs were distant and vague, seeming to disappear altogether if the onlooker looked too carefully for them. They dropped anchor at a spot Will knew had good fishing and the time passed placidly. Hannibal made himself comfortable on the deck in front of the cockpit, while Will fished at the side nearby. He was unobtrusive company, only speaking to offer food or drink. But then, Will reflected, he always had been - it had been one of the things he’d been attracted to during those few weeks after they first met. For someone who had caused so much turmoil, his presence was unusually steadying.

With Hannibal on board, the matter of eating was elevated to new levels, and he had come prepared with ingredients to suit whatever Will might catch. By late afternoon, the fish began to bite in earnest. Next to Will, Hannibal gutted and cleaned what was worth keeping, and threw back what wasn’t. Afterwards, they ate mackerel fresh from the sea, raw and dipped in soy, wasabi and lemon. The rest was filleted and packed in ice for breakfast. 

The wind curled around them, slight even out here, carrying the scent of salt with it. By the time the sun started to dip towards the horizon, they were side-by-side on the deck, feet hanging above the steely-violet water.

Finally, Will broke the peace which, over the course of the afternoon, had expanded to fill the spaces between them.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. It sounded like a confession, and he wondered how Hannibal would interpret it.

“So am I,” he replied. “The divisions between us seemed to be multiplying, not dissolving.”

“I wonder if we’ll ever settle into something solid. The memory palace is constantly rebuilding - endless passages, gates and doorways are being constructed to keep pace with our changes.”

“The shape of it may change. But there is nothing more real than my love for you.”

Will tore his gaze from the horizon to Hannibal, who was still looking out to sea.

Hannibal continued, giving Will no opportunity to reply. “Before the Romantics fell in love with its sublimities, the sea was seen as the literal remnant of God’s wrath - a leftover from the Flood. It is fitting that you should be so attracted to it - you find peace where generations saw the terrible anger of the divine.”

Will smiled with surprising warmth. “Are you comparing me or your love to God’s will?”

Hannibal caught Will’s easy smile, and a softness passed over his eyes. “Both.” He paused, and turned back towards the waves. “Then the Romantics made contemplation of the sea a contemplation of the self. Its shifting unrest reflects our interior state; a vast mirror for our tumultuous emotions.”

Will leaned back on his arms and looked back out to where the sky and sea met in an indistinct line. “I don’t see quite what you describe,” he said, eventually. “When I look out there I feel held by something infinite and indifferent. It’s strangely comforting. Fate made visible.”

“You are consoled through knowing there is no escape from the inevitable.”

“Something like that. At least I know where to focus my energy.”

He shifted closer to Hannibal until he could comfortably wrap an arm around his waist. With his head on Hannibal’s shoulder, Will said, “We survived God’s wrath. And I have something I want to give back to it. Something I should have let it take the first time.”

Hannibal stiffened underneath him. Will could feel his eyes fixed on him, and shook his head in reassurance.

“I started a journal, soon after we recovered,” he explained. “It began as a coping mechanism - a way of keeping all the old pains and hurts in one place, pinned to the pages like butterfly wings. I was frightened I would forget - things I thought I needed to remember. In case I got too comfortable with you.”

Will shut his eyes as Hannibal’s arms settled around him, warm and heavy. He felt the gentle press of a kiss on his temple and sighed. As simple as that, he knew it was time. He could forgive, finally.

When the dimming light drove them to uncurl from each other, there was a rawness in Hannibal which Will hadn’t seen since the night on the cliff. Before he would let Will stand, he kissed him while his trembling fingers traced the lines of Will’s face. Will leaned into his touches and wished he knew how to explain that he felt the same and that he always had.

Instead he could only whisper, “I love you.”

It sounded banal and insignificant to Will; it couldn’t possibly encompass the vastness of their connection. But at its utterance, Hannibal seemed beyond speech. He clutched tightly at Will, gasping for air like he was drowning, and let his tears be kissed away. 

*

Dinner was eaten on the deck under the stars. The chill had grown as the sun set in a fiery blaze. They ate wrapped up in blankets, and afterwards lay on the large cushions borrowed from the bunks downstairs. Will pressed into Hannibal’s warmth and smiled to be held like this, suspended exactly between the fathomless heavens and the dark abyss below.

Just before they turned in, Hannibal proposed a toast and produced another bottle of Sauternes. At Will’s raised eyebrow, he said, “It’s the last of this vintage I have. It seemed appropriate to drink it on board.”

Will took the glass he was offered. “What are we drinking to?”

“Another beginning, I hope. Janus is our patron, presiding this time over the end of conflict and the start of a new journey.”

Raising his glass, Will said, “To forgiveness, then. And peace.”

They both drank, unable to look away from each other. Will barely tasted it - he felt lighter than he had in years, as if the shattered pieces which had emanated from their first meeting onwards were finally coming together as they should. 

“I looked this up,” he said, gesturing to his glass. “And I realised something. You’re the noble rot, not the winemaker. Sometimes the fungus destroys the harvest. Sometimes it fosters the intense complexity of the wine.”

Hannibal kissed him, and the sweetness on his lips was luscious and delectable.

Below them, with its pages waving in the unknown currents found on the seafloor, lay a book. Swallowed by the waves, abandoned to their unconcerned whims, until it eventually it would dissolve into nothingness.

**Author's Note:**

> I chose not to set this in a specific place but they are somewhere in Europe - the samphire Will refers to here is rock samphire, an edible coastal plant found only in Europe and different to marsh samphire/sea beans.
> 
> And I know very little about wine so I'd like to thank Google for throwing up the wine metaphor I didn't even know I needed.
> 
> Finally, Hannibal has clearly read Alain Corbin’s The Lure of the Sea because that’s where his comments at the end originate from.
> 
> Thank you to [m-oarts](http://m-oarts.tumblr.com/) for the illustrations, they are lovely >3
> 
> Thanks for reading! Come chat to me on [my tumblr](http://weconqueratdawn.tumblr.com/)


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